


As Above...

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Cullen on top, M/M, Porn With Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: In which, for the first time in a long time, they don't put on airs.





	

There hadn’t been any coyness. There hadn’t been any cajoling. There hadn’t been any playful snark that ended with an eyeroll and practiced indifference. For the first time in a long time, they were beyond that. Or, at least, Cullen had been beyond that. Since he’d been put into Cullen’s care they’d played like there wasn’t a history between them that regularly ended with them up against the wall in Cullen’s room or with everything on his desk thrown to the floor so they had space on top of it. It was an act to see who might break first, who might give in to the fact that they wanted the other, and so far that seemed to be enough. Until now.

Cullen came to him silently. His face was pale but his cheeks were pink like he was in the middle of a lyrium withdrawal fever. Samson knew that face well, had worn it himself, and half expected the man to collapse in his arms. No. Instead, Cullen had simply taken his hand, kissed it, and led them both up the ladder and to his bed. The blush wasn’t a fever, not in the usual sense, but instead a barely contained desire. The hand in his was hot, held tight, and Samson let himself be led. A joke died on his lips when he saw the seriousness in Cullen’s eyes, and he followed the man up and then to bed like they’d done a hundred times in what seemed like another life.

Back then they fell into bed without a word. Sure, they teased each other but their desire never really needed to be hidden behind finely crafted walls of sarcasm and apathy. More often than not they clung to one another in the cramped and humid dormitory room they shared because they wanted that closeness. In a way Samson missed that. It made him feel wanted in a way that the Order had never given him, in a way that Corypheus had never given him, and it came from the lonely and traumatized Fereldan that seemed to love him best of all. He touched Samson like he loved him, kissed him like he loved him, and cared for him like he loved him. Then it was gone.

Now they had it back, and Cullen kissed him like he meant to steal the air from Samson’s lungs. The weight of it crushed him, just like Cullen’s arms crushed him close, and he kissed back as though this were the first time. It wasn’t. He knew that. It was, though, in a way. It was the first time in a long time, and he kissed Cullen like he’d kissed Cullen then. He tasted the same somehow, despite the years, and though he’d noticed it before this was like a revelation all over again. The kisses weren’t hard and desperate. They weren’t trying to get in as much as possible before they had to pretend again. They were heated and searching, deep and languid, which only made the blush in Cullen’s cheeks darken and one blossom in Samson’s.

There was no rough touch. There weren’t any panted orders or amused chuckles. Cullen’s hands were gentle as he guided them down onto the thin mattress on the solid frame, and instead of tearing at their clothes they pulled them off between long kisses and soothing touches. Samson trailed his long, thin fingers across the expanse of Cullen’s skin so he could feel every rib that jutted out from Cullen’s chest as well as the familiar muscle that he’d known for years. That skin was still the same, still deliciously soft and covered in little patches of blond curls here and there. His was a body that had seen battle, the body of a man covered in scars that punctuated times in his life like a period ended a sentence. Samson had to learn some of those scars, but there were others he knew as well as the ones that covered his own skin. He trailed his fingers over them gently, more gently than he’d been in more recent times, and took in how Cullen’s stomach tensed or how the muscles in his back moved when he was touched.

One thing that never changed was that they never fumbled. There was hardly, if ever, a moment where they didn’t move together like they could anticipate each other. It made things easier. It made things better. It was a practiced kind of ease that was almost as if they could read each other’s mind. They rolled together, moved until Cullen straddled Samson’s hips, and they met each other halfway for a deep kiss and swirl of tongues that stole their breath. Both of them were hard, Samson was aching already, and he smoothed his hands over Cullen’s hips so that he could get a handful of the man’s arse. He pulled Cullen closer so their cocks rubbed together, and they both moaned into that kiss.

More. They both needed more.

Cullen rode him. He rode him with Samson’s hands digging into his thighs and his head thrown back so that the gasps and groans that fell from his mouth echoed off the stone walls. Normally Cullen tried to be quiet, though he always seemed to fail, but this time he was inhibited. He bucked his hips, thrust himself down on Samson’s cock, and let a stream of both filth and desire fall from his lips between Samson and the Maker’s name. This was the man Samson remembered. Shy Cullen, the Knight Captain who was so stoic while the sun was up, let himself lose when the only light came from the moon and a few candles. It was how he lost himself, and Samson had missed that. He’d missed what duty and war and revenge had taken from him, but now he had it back.

Samson’s fingers dug into the taut, muscled meat of Cullen’s thighs and he moaned right along with him. Together, this time, it wasn’t Rutherford and Samson. No. Tonight it was Cullen and Raleigh, and their voices met like a Chantry hymn during a service. They called out, begged and pleaded, but hardly cared who heard or answered their prayer. Cullen’s body was hot and tight in all the right ways, always had been, and it took every ounce of self control in him to not come as his cock was taken in over and over again. Maybe he’d lose his mind first, but Samson would happily it lose it like this. Better here with Cullen than to the lyrium. Better to be in the throes of desire than pain. Better to give himself over to the man that fucked him like he loved him than anything or anyone else.

Together they built that intensity. One of Cullen’s hands rested on Samson’s thigh to keep himself steady, though short nails dug in so hard that Samson knew there’d be perfect bruises in the shape of Cullen’s fingers come the morning, and the other pressed down on Samson’s chest. This wasn’t Samson fucking Cullen. This was Cullen taking his own pleasure, and Samson’s, without aid. His name, “Raleigh, Raleigh, Raleigh,” fell from Cullen’s lips over and over, and finally he lowered his chin so amber eyes could meet dark ones. In the low light they were almost similar for how lust-black Cullen’s were.

“Maker, I’m-” Samson began, but the hand on his chest moved to press over his lips.

Again Cullen thrust himself down onto Samson’s cock, and this time it was like lightning hit them both. The world went white for just a moment, and Samson groaned behind Cullen’s fingers as the man’s body clenched hard around him. That was it. Lips became teeth as he sucked Cullen’s fingers into his mouth, and Samson bucked his hips upward as he came hard. Cullen hissed, bore down on Samson’s cock as he spent himself deep inside him, and the hand that rested on Samson’ thigh went tight like a vice.

When his cock finally stopped twitching and he came back to himself, Samson opened his eyes to see Cullen’s face wearing the most serene expression he’d seen in weeks. Cullen’s cock was twitching too, and Samson that he’d come as well. After him. Of course he had. Cullen loved it when Samson spent himself inside him, always had, and the evidence covered his stomach and chest. They were both breathing hard and out of sync, but Samson felt far more relaxed than he had in a while. It was quiet for a moment and they just breathed, but then there were lips on his and another of those deep and heated kisses. It wasn’t the perfunctory kind of kiss after an orgasm. No. This was a kiss from a lover that was just as sated as he was and wanted that affection now.

Though if anyone asked, neither of them cuddled after sex.

A cursory wipe with either the edge of the thin sheet or one of their shirts was all Samson could manage before Cullen practically melted on top of him. They shifted again, moved so Cullen was stretched out on his stomach between Samson’s legs with his head pillowed on Samson’s chest. They pulled the blankets up, covered their legs just to keep the chill at bay, and Cullen buried his face in Samson’s chest. He was heavy. Solid. Samson knew that weight well. The man was like another blanket in how warm he was and how easily he draped himself over Samson’s body.

Both arms curled around Cullen’s chest. It took only a moment before they breathe in unison, and Samson felt the other man press his face in close over his beating heart. Cullen wasn’t one to fall asleep immediately, and while normally there were some playful quips or teasing it felt wrong to do so now. They needed closeness. They needed warmth and affection. They needed gentle touches from strong hands and beating hearts pressed together while they caught their breath. They needed that almost sticky warmth between them that was like Kirkwall all over again. They needed…he needed…

That love. This love. That love pulled out from the dark and damp and into the light and air. Maybe now. Maybe now they wouldn’t need the coyness. They wouldn’t need the cajoling. They wouldn’t need the act. No more.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for some of the lovely art done by @oldstupidtemplar on tumblr! You can also find me on tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


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